Qeya River insurgent

star eater’s gaze snaps up, sharp as a blade, as the girl speaks. she does not flinch, does not soften—not yet. the scent clinging to the girl’s fur is familiar, too familiar. gjalla. blackfell.
her hackles bristle ever so slightly, but she does not rise. who is she?
you should not be so close, she says first, voice even, but firm. assessing. testing. the girl sits beside her, eyes wide with curiosity, eager but uncertain. star eater watches her for a long moment before she shifts, angling herself slightly toward the gathered herbs.
sorting. she states plainly, lifting a dried stalk between her teeth before setting it aside. her tone is cool, but not unwelcoming.
who are you? the demand is quiet, but weighty. if she is his, if she is gjalla’s, she should have a name. she should not be nameless before the chieftain's wife of the saatsine.